


the sun burned a hole in my roof (something's missing)

by KilltheRhythm



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, One Sided Relationships, Pining, Slight Hurt/Comfort, dele centric, oh man it's almost all angst, title from missing by beck, why did I write this I don't even like Spurs???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 15:05:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheRhythm/pseuds/KilltheRhythm
Summary: It's not a crush. Or, at least that's what Dele's been telling himself for the past, what was it now-- seven, maybe, weeks.





	the sun burned a hole in my roof (something's missing)

It's not a crush. Or, at least that's what Dele's been telling himself for the past, what was it now-- seven, maybe, weeks. He doesn't like Eric, he just _likes_ him. It's not infatuation, just admiration. Even when Son gives him tips on how to ask someone out (complete with Kevin wiggling his brows behind him), he tells him firmly that, no, there was nothing between them. It's the same thing that he tells himself late at night when his thoughts wander in unwanted directions.

But that's hard to believe when you live with the aforementioned object of attraction. He gets to see Eric in every state: drunk, tired, homesick, happy. He knows a million ridiculous pieces of trivia on his friend: what he likes for breakfast (plain toast), what samba artists are his favorites (Jorge Ben), what settings he uses on the electric razor when he buzzes his hair (mostly because he helps Eric with that). Some nights he goes to bed grinning because he's lucky enough to get all this to himself. Eric's in his dreams now more often than not, though Dele was careful not to tell anyone that.

It's the feeling that lurks in the back of his mind that does it, he thinks. Being around Eric makes him brighter, or so he hypothesizes, because he does something stupid with his face whenever he's near him. People look at him funny when he does it. He got it all that summer from nearly everyone they met while they vacationed together. It was ridiculous, Dele with his massive crush looming behind him that he constantly denied while Eric looked on, clueless and innocent. He wishes he were the same way, but unfortunately is cursed with the ability to self-realize.

And there seems to be absolutely nothing he can do about it. They play for the same club and country. They live together. He's even met Eric's childhood friends, though it wasn't much of a meeting as Dele did not at all speak Portuguese. In addition to that, he's met Eric's parents multiple times (who were more than pleased to find out that their son had at least one English friend) and Eric had met his (or the people that were closest to being Dele's family). There's nowhere to go to sort out his feelings though, nowhere to hide to deal with them. Sometimes Dele feels like he's drowning in it all.

Sitting right now in their back yard with his book, Dele can see three potted plants. Behind his eyelids he remembers planting them with Eric. He can almost feel the dirt on his arms and how their hands touched as they replanted the furled roots and how they shared the same air, being that close together. Instantly he feels heat and shame flush his cheeks. Potted plants should not make him feel love.

Sometimes he wonders if it could've been anyone other than Eric. If the stars aligned some other way, or if Eric hadn't asked a million questions on London slang when he first joined, or if they hadn't agreed to room together. It couldn't've been anyone else. There was something in the way Eric moved, his shitty taste in fashion, how he started getting mumbly late at night. How he yelled caralho at bad drivers in traffic, even though no one would understand it. Somehow all of it was astoundingly endearing. It conjured up a drumbeat in Dele's chest when he thought too much about the immensity of it all.

To make things worse, it seems that everyone in the world knows about it too. His teammates. His mates. His ex girlfriend, even. When he goes online he sees plenty of stuff on them too, though he's careful never to go on tumblr. Harry's wife searched them on there once and told him that it was full of "really nasty shit." Dele resists that particular temptation.

And to add to the horrible sit com-esque shitshow that has been his life, Eric doesn't have a single clue. He almost offensively oblivious. He putters on, living a peaceful existence of questionable haircuts, long phone calls in Portuguese and cooking dinner for the two of them. The googly eyes, invaded proximity and tendency towards clothes stealing from his roommate he all ignores to an extent that makes Dele angrily hopeless. Somehow, that thick skulled numbness only makes Dele love him more.

"I'm amazed," Alex starts from his side of the training field. Dele can hear him, just barely, mostly because the Arsenal man was amazingly loud. He shoots the shorter man a glare. Alex and his tall friend that Dele has only seen maybe twice beam back at him.

"Astounded," Jenko nods. "Like, I don't even like him and I feel bad for him."

Alex is already moving towards Dele. Instinctively, Dele looks for Eric, but Eric is far away, talking to Kyle. There is no one to pretend to busy himself with. Alex is now too close to avoid, gangly and tattooed friend in tow. "Mate, you gotta do something about this. It's getting out of hand, surely he'll notice at some point."

Jenko shakes his head, beginning to talk before Dele can. "Nah, he's oblivious. You've gotta tell him, bruv."

What Dele tells them is what he's been telling everyone, including himself for the maybe five months now. It's nothing. They're just friends. Eric likes girls. Just friends. They roll their eyes, and look unimpressed. Dele becomes even more determined not to let himself give anything away.

Obviously that doesn't work, as Milner tells him he's whipped after team dinner. _Boring James Milner_ of all people.

And now Dele lies on his bed on his stomach, face half squashed into the mattress and chest heaving slowly. It all feels inescapable. The late summer heat drifting in through the open window does nothing to soothe his jangled nerves. Eric was nowhere to be seen, probably downstairs playing monopoly or outside trying to enjoy the last few rays of sun with the younger lads. Even when he tries not to, that's where his thoughts come back, no matter the situation. Eric lived in his head as much as he lived with him. Maybe Dele needed a vacation.

He takes another shakey breath, feeling very sorry for himself. The last of the light that had crept into his room, golden and too happy for how he was had receded and died. Dele felt pathetic. Pulling himself out of bed, he looks outside. He'd been moping for far longer than he'd realized.

The quick swing and click of a door behind him makes Dele jump. He whips around to see a woosh of familiar blonde. Eric gives him a tiny grin and flops onto his mattress with a solid oompf, right next to him. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Dele says with more firmness than expected. Eric lies beside him. He tries not to notice. "Long day, that's all."

Eric's phone lights up with a notification but he ignores it. That is enough to make Dele smile. So much for being tough. "Might as well get some sleep though, right? You're gonna need your energy for big bad Lithuania tomorrow."

Dele rolls his eyes while Eric chuckles. When his friend gets up to change he quickly averts his eyes even though he knew Eric wouldn't care. Still, between his fingers he catches flashes of pale skin as Eric pulls on his pajamas. For some reason that makes his lungs suddenly constrict, even though he's seen Eric shirtless a thousand times.

Clothed in a thin t shirt and shorts, Eric leaps back onto Dele's bed. He can feel the heat radiating from the blonde's skin. And the breath blowing into his hair. And his own heart rate accelerating dangerously. How long were they going to play at this?

But he'd seen Eric's phone last week. The texts were mostly in Portuguese, but he doesn't need to know the language to understand heart emojis being sent by a Beatriz. That's all he needs to know that they weren't playing at anything. Eric was just affectionate. It was only Dele that was thinking anything more of it.

And before he can think anything more about just that, Eric moves a little closer and subconsciously Dele curls into his chest, head rising and falling with his breaths and body pressed into his side. Eric wraps an arm around him, securely anchoring Dele in, like a good friend would. He whispers something inaudible to Dele reassuringly before the younger man realizes that he himself is crying. That in itself felt shitty, but at least his sorrow got Eric's attention and affection. He won't reflect much on it though; it'd only make the situation worse.

And this situation doesn't make him feel any less low. He wants something more out of it all, wants it enough to feel it claw at his chest, threaten to climb it's way out of his throat and thought and into words. So he pulls Eric tighter. He can hear him ask if he is okay again, but doesn't bother in responding.

Perhaps it is the silence that worries Eric, because he begins to speak again, quiet, quietly enough for Dele to feel it more through the bass rumbling in his chest than through the air. It's almost all praise, little compliments and words of encouragement, though there was no possible way that Eric could actually know what the issue was. He could be thinking that his friend was suffering from a million different things, but never guess it correctly.

Eric talks for what seems to be the next eternity. He talks until he runs out of things to say in English, and rehashes what he had said in Portuguese. It's ridiculous, Dele thinks, though he's not sure what about this is unbelievable; the tight arms around him or the talking or something else entirely. Soon Eric falls silent again, for a long time.

"Do you feel better now?"

Dele pauses to think about his response. If he said no, then surely Eric would worry and pry further, which he didn't want. If he said yes, Eric would probably get up and start to do something else. "I don't know, really."

Eric shuffles away the tiniest distance on the bed, just enough to lie separately from Dele. He is on his back. Dele is on his side. Eric hums his breaths. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

Eric frowns. "Is it personal?" Now Dele can feel his eyes on him, concerned. "You can tell me anything, you know. Even if it was that you killed someone. You're my mate. Even if you're my murderer mate."

Dele chuckles at that. He doesn't have to look at Eric to know that a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Alright, it's not that bad."

"Tell me."

Dele turns around so he can look at Eric now. If he was going to do this it should be face to face. "It's kinda bad."

"Just tell me." Eric says, more excited than worried.

Dele can't. He can feel his chest constrict and his heart beat increase exponentially. Anxiety makes his fingers curl and his palms sweat and worry drop to the base of his stomach. The words are void in his head. Anchoring himself seems impossible, but Eric looks at him expectantly, and Dele knows he must try to say it now.

"Yeah, uh, I don't really know how to say this but. Uh, I really like you."

Now that the words are out all Dele can do is stare at Eric. He tries to gauge a reaction in the blonde's eyes. _If_ his emotions can be seen in his face. Alas, Eric is impeccably composed. There's nothing that can be gathered from it really, just that Eric is thinking.

Finally. "That isn't great news." He pauses for an eternity to think some more, leaving Dele to founder in his emotions. "I'm flattered, don't get me wrong, but it won't work. I don't feel the same-- I'm sorry."

Those are the words that Dele didn't want to hear. He was expecting it, yes, but it actually happening was entirely different. He doesn't cry, not really, but his chest heaves involuntarily, enough for Eric to notice, enough for Eric to scoot back over and wrap an arm around him comfortingly. He knows that Eric doesn't have a clue as to how to handle the situation, but he doesn't either. Eric apologizes like he's done something wrong and he smooths circles into Dele's back and he does all that he can.

"It's alright," Dele can hear his own voice crack. "I think it'll be alright."

**Author's Note:**

> woo boy why did I even write this. comments/qualms/whatever appreciated please


End file.
